


Was it Worth It?

by OrUpToTheThrone



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Gun Violence, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Minor Original Character(s), Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Other, POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character, Pain, Partners in Crime, This Is Me Deflecting, Violence, good guy looses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:27:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29353425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrUpToTheThrone/pseuds/OrUpToTheThrone
Summary: This is a story of Beck. It starts with Beck, it ends with Beck. The Beck at the beginning is not the same Beck at the end.Yeah, there's some intense stuff with Hotch, but it's not smut. It's more depressing (I love suffering!)Warning: This is something I wrote in one night with minimal editing. Yes, one night. I have no idea what it actually sounds like but it probably means I need help. Like, therapy, and lots of it. Good luck reading, I cannot promise you will come out of it having a good day. TWs at the bottom.Disclaimer, I am fully aware that the fires that occurred that closed Multnomah falls for a period of time occurred in 2017 and nowhere near the right year for this prompt, but I’m manipulating time in a fictional world anyways so you’ll have to survive.TW: Mention of Rape, Murder, Self-harm. Use of expletives apparent.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Original Female Character(s), Aaron Hotchner/Reader
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Repeat Disclaimer, I am fully aware that the fires that occurred that closed Multnomah falls for a period of time occurred in 2017 and nowhere near the right year for this prompt, but I’m manipulating time in a fictional world anyways so you’ll have to survive.  
> TW: Mention of Rape, Murder, Self-harm. Use of expletives apparent.

BECK. PORTLAND, OR  
3:15 AM  
May 5th  
2010

First laugh track in the song, and everyone was going to know what was up. A few minutes later? I would be belting Spice Girls’ _Wannabe_ at full volume while getting the job done.

“Hey, Sam?” I spoke into my earpiece, my breath fog in the cool night air. “Fuck it up.” 

“Right on,” an enthusiastic female voice replied into my ear, and I grinned widely as I reached for my hip, the shop radio fuzzing in and beginning the familiar song. It took one movement to spin, kick the glass shop door in, and pull out my very illegal suppressed, unstamped short barrel rifle. I couldn't care less; I was doing a lot of illegal things at the moment, and what I was carrying was just maybe five of them.

This would be a quick job, in and out: the guy I was hitting was a single guy who liked to break into stores to sleep because he couldn’t keep a flat of his own. The last apartment he’d had, the feds had found a child porn stache. He’d had the apartment in someone else’s name. Apparently, being a previous sex offender wasn’t enough, and that meant the feds couldn’t prove that he’d owned the porn, so they had to let him go to catch him again. I wasn’t about to let him commit another few felonies and get away with it.

I held my gun up and eyed the contents of the dark store through the thermal imaging scope. This guy was definitely awake to the Spice Girls if he wasn’t before, and now I just had to find him.

“Harrison Ramos, can I call you Harry? I know you’re in here. Either you can come out now or I’ll just shoot the fuck out of this store.”

There was a brief scurry to my right against the wall.

“ _Haaaarrryyyy,_ I _knooowww_ you’re here,” I called, playing around a little. “Want to talk about that eight year old girl you raped five years ago and got off free for? Or do you want to admit to owning the child porn in your buddy’s apartment, huh?”

“Oh my god, Beck, just shoot him up. We’ve got minutes before the cops-” Sam started in my ear.

“-Oh, I know, I just want to enjoy this one. _If you wanna be my lov-a,_ ” I snickered a bit, interrupting her.

Sam sighed deeply, blowing wind interference into my earpiece. “You know the feds were close in Georgia. Just keep that in mind.”

“Fine, fine. Ruining my fun.” I turned my gun on where I’d heard Ramos.

“Come on out, Harry. I see you.” I steeled my voice, eyeing his frame through my thermal scope.

“Are you feds? You’ve got no proof-” Ramos suddenly began to argue, abrasively raising his voice, but I stopped him.

“Not feds. Worse.”

I heard his sharp breath through the music before I shot him in the face.

“Nice. Now get the hell out, Beck.” Sam sounded frustrated, but I stood there for a bit listening to the song finish before moving. I just walked right back out the way I came, kicking the door’s broken glass away again as I tucked my short rifle in my rain jacket.

“We really need to figure out a way to do this and enjoy it more.” I huffed as I stuck my hands in the jacket to hide the gun, starting my way through the rain.

“You’re telling me? You get to kill the sons of bitches while I’m stuck at a secondary location,” I could hear Sam rolling her brown eyes at me behind her ludicrous amount of eyeliner.

“Alright, alright.” I smiled to myself as I pulled keys out of rustling black fabric. “We can brainstorm some shit up when I get home, alright?”

“Okay,” was all Sam said, but I could tell she was smiling too.

“One more down, thousands to go,” I whispered to myself as I approached a forest green 90s Toyota Land Cruiser. I didn’t like it much, but the less conspicuous on the job, the better. “See you soon.”

“Drive safe.”

And with that, I took out my earpiece, unlocked the Toyota, and headed home.

BAU. QUANTICO, VA  
6:16 AM  
May 5th

“Hotch! We’ve got a hit on techie _NeriumO5uwu_ hacking into an Whole Foods store to play Spice Girls.” Garcia was out of breath with excitement, cheeks rosy as she rounded the corner of the BAU conference room.

“Where, Garcia?” Hotch quickly picked up his folders from the conference table.

“Portland, Oregon.”

“Hotch, we can’t make that in time. They’ll be out of the city by then.” Morgan’s brows were furrowed in their usual squiggles.

“We should investigate the crime scene anyway. Up in thirty.”

~~~~~

“I’m sorry, Hotch, their coding is just too complex for me to get through in the time before they’ve switched towers and locations. This kind of thing takes months of coding, it’s incredible.”

“That’s alright, Garcia. Focus on sex offenders in the area that may have gotten away with something recently.” Hotch dropped his pad in his lap as Garcia’s face disappeared from the jet screens.

“You know, Nerium Oleander is a highly toxic flower, considered by many to be the most toxic. I wonder what the significance of the 5 is in relation to it. O5, could that be in relation to government pay grade?” Reid started to run through his paper files.

“Unlikely. We’ve profiled these guys to be anarchists, I doubt they have any relation to the government.” Morgan flipped through his pad, meeting Reid’s eyes.

“That’s true, but I feel like there’s some relevance to the 5 that we haven’t thought about.” Reid looked away and down at his folder.

“If anyone could make a connection, you’ll do it, Spence.” JJ wasn’t even looking at her pad.

Reid recognized the look on everyone’s face, then looked at Hotch. Hotch was just staring out the window, also ignoring the pad in his lap.

“Hey, guys? I get the feeling that we’re not very interested in this case,” the doctor set his files down. The jet immediately immersed itself into silence, and everyone turned to look at Reid expectantly.

“Reid’s right. I know it seems pointless and impossible, but they have to slip up eventually.” Hotch looked around the group.

“To be honest, aren’t there cases that might be a little more, I don’t know, gratifying?” Prentiss started. “This team, they’ve been working together for years and have already perfected their craft. They are only a danger to criminals. Could there be cases that are higher priority, like a child abduction or a serial rapist?”

“We’ve been watching these guys for months, and we know they’ve been active for three years at least. They haven’t messed up once yet. To be honest, this isn’t my first choice either,” JJ uncovered her pad, swiping it open.

“We haven’t gotten a child abduction report in a week, and most of the recent cases were consultation only. The pacific northwest is new to the hit team and we might be able to catch them. ” Hotch moved in his chair. 

“I’m not so sure. We haven’t been able to find where they come from or where they call home, but with each hit on a different city, the more likely that they’re getting closer to where we could catch them,” Reid defended, sitting up a bit.

“What do you mean?” That was Rossi, curious as ever.

“We profiled that they’re avoiding working where they live. If they keep taking jobs and moving around, with time, they might feel confident enough to work where they feel most comfortable. That, and their hometown could be their endgame.”

“Fair point. Have they ever hit cities or counties in close proximity to each other?” Morgan leaned forward.

“Not yet, but if they do, that could be an indication that they’re close to home.”

“Alright. We’ve already got our victimology done from past hits, so let’s focus on the team this time,” Hotch started. “Since the media got a hold of the pattern, they think it’s just one person. They’ve decided to dub this person the Dawn Demon, and it’s probable that the team was receptive to this because there have been several instances of someone contacting the media addressed as Dawn.”

“How do we know that the person contacting the media is a member of the team?” Prentiss looked at Hotch. Garcia popped up onto the screens again, having been listening in.

“The person contacted the media in the correct city the day of the hit, before the hit occurred. The hit team was intelligent enough to only do it three times, so we weren’t able to discern a pattern in time to catch them, but they made it obvious that it was, in fact, them. And before you ask, the paper was too generic to track, and it was written in graphite. No prints or DNA.” 

“I know that we previously profiled the team as male, but if they chose the name Dawn from Dawn Demon, is it possible that one of the dominant unsubs is a female?” Rossi questioned, turning back to Hotch.

“It is very possible.” Hotch eyed Rossi.

“Actually, the term ‘dawn’ could refer to a person either femininely or masculinely, though within the last five-hundred years it is most recently referred to in a feminine sense,” Reid spoke up.

“So it’s still likely this unsub is a female based on recent use of the word. The fact that the more hands-on member of the team has left messy crime scenes makes it likely that the dominant isn’t the one doing the killing, but maybe the one doing the hacking. That would mean we are looking for another Garcia that is partnering with a man to act as a vigilante.” Hotch unlocked his pad.

“There’s no one quite like Garcia,” Morgan smiled.

“Aw, thanks, Morgan,” Garcia smiled back from across the screens.

“That means we can catch her.” Hotch nodded to Morgan.

“Feelin’ the love. I’ll get back to you on the victims. Garcia out!” The screens retreated to their usual blue FBI backdrop.

BECK. PORTLAND, OR  
5:45 AM  
May 5th

“Hi honey, I’m home!” I closed the rosewood door behind myself as I took the black rain jacket off, throwing it over a cedar chest by the door. I tried my damndest not to track rain and mud onto the carpet, but a little bit made it to the edges.

“Beck! You got back faster than I thought.” Sam scrambled from her room down the hall in all her goth glory, black hair bouncing around her grin. Then, she saw the mud. “Thank god there isn’t mud downtown, or I could wring your neck for bringing in evidence. That mud better not be from the Gorge, either. Did you keep prints off the Toyota and dump it where we agreed?” she gave me a look.

“Ha ha. Yeah, ran it into the Columbia farther down the Gorge when no one was around, hopped in the Honda with no one around too. What should we get for dinner to celebrate tonight?” I took my gun out of my jacket, removing the magazine.

“I dunno, Chinese? I’m not incredibly hungry; it was an easy job.” Sam shrugged. “Didn’t exactly work hours on it. How did your end go? Did you end up smashing the glass store front?”

“Yeah. Before you say anything, I absolutely made sure to get rid of the glass and make sure each piece had no remnants of my shoes or prints,” I set the gun down under our cedar chest and held up my hands.

“Hah. Fine, but I don’t like needless destruction of property.”

“It’s a Whole Foods store, Sam, they’ve got insurance.”

“Whatever.”

I snorted. “Do you want me to cook, or should we order?”

“I don’t want anything traced within twenty-four hours to here, so could you cook?” Sam looked up at me with her big, brown eyes. 

“Alright.” I sighed. “It’ll be ready in an hour, that fine?”

“Awesome!” And with that, Sam was back in her geeked-out room.

I turned down the hallway and flicked on the kitchen lights, hanging black glass fixtures illuminating slowly as I entered. One of my few comforts was cooking. When I cooked, time went by faster, and when I cooked, I got to distract myself by listening to movie soundtracks. Sam always had to pull my earbuds out of my ears to capture my attention after I’d gotten too lost in the sauce. She did this, right before I finished plating up a whole fish to add to the collection of fried dishes on the granite counter. 

“You look almost done. This is a lot of food,” She moved around the other side of the counter.

“Let’s take a trip to the province of Hubei,” I dramatically gestured to the onslaught of dishes on the counter.

“Oh my god.” Sam put her face in her hands, laughing. “This is a lot, even for you. How did you do this in an hour?”

“Mandolin slicer.” I held up the new contraption that I’d used to slice the veggies.

“Impressive,” Sam raised an eyebrow as she laughed, sitting on a stool by the counter.

“This dish is especially fun,” I pointed to the fried lettuce arrangement to my left, “because one of my college roommates from Wuhan taught me how to make it. I think you’ll love it.”

“You know I’m from Hebei, not Hubei, right?” Sam tapped her fingers against the counter, eyes full of mirth.

“Aren’t they next to each other? Eat your food and shut up,” I laughed back, sitting myself down with the fish dish.

“No, they’re not. Henan is in between Hebei and Hubei, dumbass.”

“Okay, okay. Fine. Eat your damn food.”

Sam dug into the food. I watched her carefully as I copied her, gauging her reaction. Whether people liked my food or not mattered a lot to me; it was like my once source of pride, and if someone didn’t like it, I had to throw a glove at them or prove myself.

“Okay, this is actually really authentic, what the hell?” Sam finally looked up. I just smiled, happy, as I dug into my own food with new vigor. I could truly enjoy it now.

“Did you get the fried potato recipe from my mom? I’m serious,” Sam side-eyed me, and I laughed a bit but kept eating.

“You know what? I’m glad we decided to finally make a hit here. Even if it was short this time, it felt more cathartic.” I took a break in the deliciously spicy fried lettuce. 

“Yeah. We just can’t do it again, not until we’ve hit other cities more than once already, which means a lot more work before we can have more fun,” Sam pointed at me with her fork.

“Sure, sure. I’m just glad we did it.”

It was quiet for a few more minutes before Sam spoke up again.

“You know, the feds have got this hacker on their team,” she started, then stopped.

“Don’t tell me you got caught?” I raised my eyebrows.

“Naw, no way in hell. Anyway, the hacker’s original signature is _happy fun meow meow_ , if that says anything, but here’s where it gets interesting-”

“-Happy fun _meow meow_ -”

“-Here’s where it gets interesting. The tag stopped being used, like, ten years ago, and then it got used by someone pretending to be the FBI hacker, which is irrelevant, but obviously there’s traces of their work on the net, right? So they’re either no longer using a signature or they’re tagging their work with something different. Now that’s where it gets even more interesting.” Sam paused for dramatic effect, smiling evilly over the food at me. “Because guess what I found? I found a new signature for the FBI hacker. I know, I’m amazing,” she ate a bite of fish.

“And that means? What? I’m confused.”

“It means that our FBI hacker has been doing some unsolicited illegal hacking activities under a new signature. So hey, if I get caught, I’ve got blackmail.”

“I don’t know what any of that meant, but that’s great.” I ate some more fried lettuce.

“It’s more than great. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to get caught anyway, but hey, it’s maybe something to play around with in the future?” Sam gave me a grin from across the counter.

“Are you, Sam, suggesting we let ourselves get caught for fun?” I grinned back. 

"Not quite. Definitely raise suspicion for fun, but with nothing traceable, and a plan b with blackmail.”

“That does sound fun.” I picked up some rice with my chopsticks.

“Obviously, we shouldn’t do it any time soon because we could fuck it up so close to home, but across the country? We should absolutely do that.” 

“I’m down.” I set my utensils on the counter and stood up. “Alcohol?”

“Always,” Sam smiled, getting up to grab glasses from the cabinets over the sink. I walked over to the fridge, opened the freezer compartment, and stopped.

“Is it a bourbon kind of night or a vodka kind of night?” I asked over my shoulder.

“I want vodka!” 

“Well, I want bourbon, so I guess I’ll grab both.”

“Will you make me a cocktail?” Sam smiled slyly at me from the sink, holding out cocktail glasses.

“If you put one of those down and grab me a whisky glass? Sure.” I pulled the bottles out of the freezer and set them onto the counter, kicking the freezer closed behind me.

BAU. PORTLAND, OR  
2:26 PM  
May 5th

“We gained a few hours, so the sun won’t be up for another half hour at least. Rossi and Reid, head to the store. PPB has been informed that we’re coming. JJ, come with me to set up at the PPB. Morgan and Prentiss, contact the PPB for any info on our victim. If the pattern holds, there will be a separate crime scene related to the victim, and I want you there to cover our bases.” Hotch was already typing a number into his phone as he spoke, the others taking in the cool, humid air of PDX.

“Wow. It’s… wet, here,” Reid stepped into a puddle getting off the jet, blinking up at the grey sky. 

“It’s the northwest,” Prentiss commented, quickly making her way past Reid and towards the SUVs waiting for them. “Morgan, I’m driving this time!” She called over her shoulder, smiling viciously.

“Damn!” Morgan hurried down the stairs from the jet to catch up to Prentiss. JJ laughed quietly at him as she stepped next to Hotch. 

“Let’s go,” Rossi beckoned Reid to follow him to the SUVs as well. JJ watched two of the SUVs drive away and waited for Hotch, who was pressing his phone to his ear, a stern look on his face.

“Hello. Detective Crews?” He suddenly spoke. “This is SSA agent Aaron Hotchner with the FBI. We’ve touched down and are on our way.” Hotch paused. “Yes, thank you. Is there anything else?” Listening, Hotch began to start walking to the SUVs, JJ following. “How accessible are possible dumpsites from downtown?” He turned to JJ at the detective’s reply. “JJ, they got traffic images of the unsub’s car traveling eastbound on I84 along the Columbia river. Let Prentiss and Morgan know, they’re going to go that direction instead.”

“You got it.”

“We’ll be looking for a Green Toyota Land Cruiser, at least a decade old.”

“Got it.” JJ began texting.

“Considering how careful they’ve been, they will probably be dumping the car in the river. We need to track all outgoing cars and put out an APB for a car that was sitting by the road unattended until our window of time, from two to about three-thirty AM. It’s doubtful anyone will have noticed, but we have to try.”

“Right. I let Prentiss and Morgan know, they’re on their way.” JJ looked up from her phone, finished.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Hotch turned back to his own phone. “Detective, how many cameras and patrols are on I84?” After listening, he turned back to JJ. “The highway isn’t as up to date as downtown Portland, and that section of I84 is in another precinct’s jurisdiction. The most they’ve got is aircraft patrol, which they are communicating from the other precinct right now.”

“This unsub must have known that, otherwise they wouldn’t have let their car get caught on camera,” JJ commented, thinking.

“They might be familiar with this city. Maybe Reid was right,” Hotch nodded. “They could have tried to track aircraft patrols on I84 prior to the hit; text Garcia to check if anyone’s hacked into PPB recently for that information.”

“On it.”

Hotch reached the door to an SUV, pulling out keys from his suit pocket. “Thank you, detective. I’ll let you know when we arrive.” He hung up, unlocked the car, and stepped into the driver’s seat, JJ joining him from the passengers side.

“We might have a chance if this is their home city. Let everyone know.” And with those words, Hotch keyed the ignition.

BECK. PORTLAND, OR  
7:03 AM  
May 5th

“Do we have to open the shop in a few hours? I could kind of use a sleep day.”

Sam perked up at my words. “It’s not smart, considering the FBI might come to investigate Ramos today.”

“You’re right.” I sighed, directing my attention back to the dishes I was washing in the sink. “Do we still have a stack of 5-hour shots?”

“Yeah, they should be above the mugs.”

“Thanks.”

BAU. PORTLAND, OR  
3:45 PM  
May 5th

“Have Morgan and Prentiss had any luck locating the Toyota?” Hotch sat himself at the conference table in the PPB.

“Nope. Fifteen minutes ago, they were still going through traffic cam footage and aircraft patrol records. It’s looking like they won’t find anything, and PPB isn’t exactly going to drain the Columbia river to find them, so the car might be a dead end.” JJ was still setting up photos of past victims and maps on the board. Other than the photos, it was embarrassingly empty, with little to no estimates on unsub profiles or information.

“Have Reid and Rossi got any new leads?”

“Another dead end.”

“And Garcia hasn’t checked in with anything new.”

“Unfortunately, no.”

Hotch opened up his pad again.

“We have got to be looking at this wrong,” JJ suddenly exclaimed, looking over the evidence from previous crime scenes. “Is there anything similar between these murders, other than MO? There must be something.”

“I don’t know, JJ.” Hotch looked exhausted. 

“Let’s go over these again, just one more time. Every single one of these victims was convicted or had otherwise damning evidence against them, yet served a maximum of five years for charges such as rape, murder, or abuse. We know they must get this information from somewhere.”

“We’ve already looked at online chats, but I can ask Garcia to check again.”

“We know that different weapons are being used, yet some repeatedly. This led to our initial estimation that we had multiple unsubs working together; a team, but now we know that it might be just two unsubs, one hacking, one committing the attack. We know that the weapons are most likely illegal.”

“Even if some of their guns are unregistered, they might own registered ones as well,” Hotch picked up his phone to text Garcia. “Gun purchases closer to Portland would be much easier to track than in other areas. It’s a jump, but it’s possible they’ve bought guns here before. I’ll ask Garcia for a list of gun purchases over the last five years that could fit some of the models used in the attacks.”

“We could- oh, Rossi’s calling.” JJ took out her phone, swiped at it, then set it on the conference table. “Rossi? You’re on speaker,” she leaned against the board.

“Hey guys, we’ve gone over the whole crime scene and are going to get a ballistics report soon. Nothing so far, but ballistics might give us something new. Victim was shot in the face this time.” Rossi’s voice sprung out of JJ’s phone.

“That’s different than before,” JJ looked at Hotch.

“It is.” Hotch nodded. “Were there any other injuries?” 

“Only the one shot. To the face.” Reid’s voice was high and awkward, like it got when he was imagining something happening to him.

“Once you get the ballistics report, come back to the station so we can work out the differences between this crime scene and the others. I think we have a good case for why they might live in the area.” Hotch looked back at his pad. “JJ, can you make sure the press don’t know it was the ‘Dawn Demon’?”

“On it.” JJ started collecting papers off the table that hadn’t been pinned to the board yet.

“We’ll be back soon.” And with that, Rossi hung up. Right before JJ moved to pick her phone up, it started ringing again. After reading the caller, she looked up, eyes bright.

“It’s Morgan.” JJ put the phone on speaker again. “Morgan, you’re on speaker. Find something?”

“We found the car.”

DAWN DEMON. PORTLAND, OR  
4:59 PM  
May 5th

I just wanted the damn day to be over.

“Sam, _please,_ can we close up early? I feel like I’m going to fall asleep in front of a customer,” I complained, leaning over the counter to the shop dramatically.

Sam snorted. “Fine. We’ll close at six; will one more hour be alright for your frail, fragile body?”

I glared at her childishly from across the shop. “I do all the arm work and you know it, asshole.” 

“And I stay up with you on jobs for hours to make sure your stupid ass doesn’t get caught.” Sam didn’t even react, her voice calm as she turned her attention back to her project.

“Yeah, well, I have to keep up a body to take out grown ass men,” I grumbled darkly. Sam heard me and perked up.

“Jeez, do you need a boyfriend or something? You’ve been way grumpier recently.” Sam finally dropped whatever geeky project she was working on and looked at me.

“No,” I mumbled back. “Guys suck.”

“They do. But do you need one? Admit it, Beck, you’ve been grumpy and you haven’t dated anyone in, like, three years.”

“Maybe because the last one constantly complained about me being able to judo throw him.”

“Then don’t date assholes? I don’t know what to tell you, Beck.” 

“There are only assholes that are men. There are only men-assholes. I mean, there are only men that are assholes. _Fuck,_ ” I defended. Sam just shook her head.

“Okay, maybe you are too tired for this. I’ll tell you what, we’ll close now, okay? And then we can both get a break. Just help me close up,” She closed her laptop. 

“Thank FUCK. That was the goal,” I grinned up at her, resting my head on the counter. 

“You’re such an idiot,” She laughed at me, but it was in an endearing way. “I’ll drive on the way back, okay? If you’re really that tired,” Sam raised an eyebrow at me.

“Definitely,” I nodded my head vigorously. “Just, don’t wreck my honey, okay?”

“I’m not going to wreck that piece of shit.”

“Goddamnit, Sam, it’s a fucking ‘79 Camaro. It’s not a piece of shit and it’s in perfect condition.”

“Oh, so now you’re coherent enough to argue with me?” Sam teased, and I slammed my forehead into the counter.

“Just because the frame is a _little_ bent-”

“-the FRAME is bent?” Sam looked at me incredulously. “I’ve been riding in that death trap for _years_ and NOW you tell me-”

“-Yeah, the fucking frame is bent, but you aren’t dead, are you?” I frowned. Sam just shook her head again. 

“I can’t believe you’re going to make me drive your manual deathtrap of a shitshow car.”

“It works fine, Sam. I haven’t died yet.”

Sam started walking to the door to flip our open/closed sign over to close, but I could hear her mutter a grim “yet” as she walked.

BAU. PORTLAND, OR  
7:32 PM  
May 5th

“Morgan and Prentiss are still going over the car with forensics, so let’s cover where the car was found just to make sure we aren’t missing anything,” Hotch told the three others now standing around the table. “Before we turn in for the night, we need to sort through this list of gun purchases in the last five years and try to narrow it down, as well as cross check it with previous hits.”

The mood in the room was deafening. 

“Ballistics came back as a short barreled Scorpion with- get this- 9mm rounds.” Reid put the paper report on the table. 

“It’s probably an illegal, unstamped gun. I don’t think we can track this through usual channels,” Rossi spoke up, folding his arms. 

“Are 9mm rounds trackable?” Hotch sat at the conference table.

“Not really, unless they used a credit card,” JJ sat down as well. “We could ask Garcia to check.”

Hotch grabbed his phone and started calling Garcia. She picked up after a single ring.

“What’s up?”

“Garcia, can you pull up a list of 9mm rounds bought in Portland limits with a card in the last three months?” Hotch turned back to the others. “That should give us a big enough range if they do live here. Garcia, at the same time, can you look up a separate list of people who have short barrel rifle permits? They might have an illegal gun, but they could still have a permit just in case. This team has thought of a lot of things.”

“Will do, sir!” Garcia’s typing began through the phone’s speakers. Almost immediately, she spoke again. “Uh oh.…. there’s a surprisingly large number of people in Portland with permits. Very surprising, considering- well, nevermind. I’ve got the list, but it’s hundreds of people. Now, the list of people who have bout 9mm rounds in the last month? Not as large. Maybe thirty people.” 

“Thanks, Garcia. Can you cross those two lists?”

“Absolutely. Aaaannnnddddd…” There was a long pause, like Garcia was double, then triple checking something. “...nothing. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Alright. Thanks, Garcia.” Hotch hung up the phone.

“These guys probably pay for everything with cash,” Rossi thought, leaning into the table.

“I don’t know. There’s a chance they got the rounds somewhere else, especially with all their traveling, and there’s a chance that they don’t have gun permits either. We might be looking for much older, basic gun permits, perhaps a handgun permit from ten years ago?” Reid nervously played with a pencil in his hands.

“Even then, that’s too broad a search. We need something more definitive. Do Morgan and Prentiss have anything, or do we need to revisit the profile?” Rossi tapped the table.

“We know where the car was found; driven off into a swampier portion of the Columbia, to the right of the main river. Any other evidence is still in the process of being examined.” JJ spoke up.

“Do we have a specific location?” Rossi clasped his hands together.

“Just past Multnomah Falls.” Hotch looked through the texts Morgan had sent.

“Multnomah Falls…. guys, I think I can prove that the unsubs lives in Portland,” Reid suddenly straightened, looking straight at Hotch.

“How so?”

“Multnomah Falls is usually a pretty big tourist attraction, one of the biggest in Oregon. The unsub wouldn’t risk being seen there with such a large public eye, unless the unsub knew that the falls were in the danger zone of fire this season, and consequently were closed,” Reid continued. “This unsub knew that, and knew they wouldn't be seen dumping their car if there wasn’t the usual traffic on the roads. Otherwise, it would’ve been too risky to take I84 in this season. Hotch, was the car found within the park?”

“I’ll check with Morgan.” Hotch pulled out his phone to text

“But wait, Reid, it’s not fire season.” JJ’s brows furrowed.

“Oregon had a forest fire lit by a group of teenagers at a campsite during an unusually dry spring this year, and it’s still burning, even though it’s been raining for three days. It’s been traveling the length of the Columbia River Gorge.”

“How the hell do you know that?” Rossi looked at Reid funny.

“I just do?”

“Okay, Morgan says that it was found dumped close to visitor parking on park lands, but the rangers didn’t see anything because they were patrolling further down the park property,” Hotch interrupted. “Reid, I think you’re right. This unsub knew the ranger shifts.”

“Okay, so we now know two things that have changed in this case than the others. The unsub shot the victim in the face, and this is their base of operations. What does that mean?” JJ looked at the board of victims.

Reid perked up again. “Could they have known the unsub personally this time, or known someone hurt by him?”

“We’ll have to consider it.” Hotch looked at the board of victims from across the room. “Before we get more information from Morgan and Prentiss, let’s focus on a new profile. I think we have some new things to consider. JJ, when we get a more solid profile, I think it’ll time to notify the press.”

DAWN DEMON. PORTLAND, OR  
7:52 AM  
May 6th

I was staring at the morning news when I saw it.

“Ummmm, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you seen the news?”

Sam dropped her coffee mug on the table to look at me.

“Beck, what the _fuck_ did you do.”

“Uh, I _might’ve_ wanted to spice things up a bit?”

“What the _fuck_ do you mean you wanted to _spice things up_?”

“I was going to tell you, but I kind of…. Forgot?” I pointed at our TV, which was now detailing a certain Toyota that had been found near Multnomah Falls.

“You forgot that you decided to purposefully leave a vehicle you used as an escape vehicle in a public area where it would be easily found, especially since we both knew the FBI would be searching I84 for it.”

“...... yes?”

“Oh my fucking god.” Sam dropped her elbows to the table, head in her hands. “Beck. Oh my _fucking god_ , Beck, these are PROFILERS!” Sam looked up at me for emphasis, dark eyes wild.

“Yeah, we might be brought into their suspect pool.”

“We _MIGHT_ be? You scratched out all the identifying numbers on the car, they’re going to know that you know something about cars.”

“That was vague as fuck, but I get what you’re saying.”

“DO you? DO you _REALLY_?”

“Yes, Sam,” I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry. There’s no physical evidence to prove we did it. The only issue will be hiding the guns if they come to call, which we’ve done before, no biggie.”

“Oh, right, no BIGGIE, losing THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS OF GUNS somewhere the POLICE WON’T FIND.” Sam waved her hands around aggressively. 

“I’m sorry, Sam. I’ve just been pretty bored, you know? Getting on the FBI’s radar might make things more interesting, and I know you agree, we were just talking about this last night.”

“.......” Sam stared at me for a while before speaking. “...... You’re right, but you can’t make any more purposeful mistakes for the rest of the case. Let’s get rid of the guns today.”

“I used 9mm last time, so we just need to get rid of those rounds, the guns that use those rounds, and the rest of the illegal ones,” I offered. Sam sighed, exasperated. 

“If I have to hack another bank for money again because of how much we’ll be losing I am NOT going to be happy.” She crossed her arms, glaring at me. “Getting out of that hacking wormhole last time was a nightmare, and if I did it again, as much as I hate to admit it, I think that’d tip someone off.”

“Eh, don’t worry. I’ve got business through the shop and I’m sure it’s enough for a while.”

Sam dropped her arms, tired. “Alright. Just deal with the guns soon.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t leave them on our property. I’ll make sure to dump them somewhere without prints or anything.” I quickly left to collect all that was illegal.

BAU. PORTLAND, OR  
8:23 AM  
May 6th

“What did you guys come up with for the new profile?” Prentiss walked into the conference room.

“Hey guys,” JJ nodded to Prentiss and Morgan, “we came up with a few things last night. One, at least one of the unsubs has been assaulted in the past and their assaulter wasn’t charged. Two, we think the one in the seat is a woman, and she’s the one that’s been hacking into different servers. We still haven’t been able to track her down. We suspect that she’s been in some kind of league like Garcia was before she joined the BAU, and it’s very possible that she was the one assaulted. Three, she’s extremely organized, which may mean that the car was left to be found on purpose. Four, they will both be between the ages of thirty and forty. Other than her, we’ve got virtually no information on the other unsub, but given the shape of the previous crime scenes, it’s unlikely that it’s a woman. We’re probably looking for a couple, and the man in the relationship feels a duty to this woman to avenge her, probably due to the relationship having been existing prior to the attack.”

“Garcia, did you get that?” Hotch called. 

“Yes, sir, I got that. I am now searching records in Portland for assaults, but I need to narrow it down.”

“Let’s keep going. Morgan and Prentiss, what did you guys find out about the Toyota?”

“We couldn’t find any identification on the car and no prints or DNA.” Prentiss shrugged. “They covered their tracks. We’ve only been able to match a production year to the model.”

“They tore out the VIN number? There’s got to be some way to track the other parts.” JJ looked at Reid from across the table.

Morgan sighed. “The numbers on the car parts were all scratched out.” 

“These unsubs know their way around cars,” Rossi pointed out. 

“Your right.” Reid paused, looking at him. “I don’t know why we didn’t think of it before, but if we haven’t been able to track their flight information from city to city, could they be driving?”

“That would explain a lot.” JJ shared a look with Hotch.

“Their work could involve something around cars, something that lets them take a week off at any time,” Reid continued, “Garcia, could we get a list of car junkyards or used car dealerships within thirty miles of downtown? Actually, scratch car dealerships. That would require more intimate dealing with customers that these unsubs don’t want to afford.”

“I’m way ahead of you. We’ve got- oh, shoot, there’s a lot,” Garcia’s voice reported from the phone on the table.

“How many, Garcia?” Hotch leaned on the table, palms gripping the sides.

“Fifty-something. Gimme more parameters.”

“Garcia, check for co-owned dealerships where at least one of the owners is a woman,” Reid spoke, leaning in as well.

“That puts the list at five. Oh, wow, three now; two closed in the last year.”

“Alright. Send us the list.” Hotch retreated from the table, taking his keys out of his pocket as he moved.

“On your phones…. Now,” Garcia’s typing was audible through the speaker. 

“Wait. Garcia, can you cross-check that list with people with gun permits? Any permits?” 

“Aaaaaaaaaand you’re down to two. One of the pairs is a Danny Richards and a Marylin Richards, the other is a Rebbecca Montgomery and a Samantha- oh, I can’t say that last name. Xing? I sent the new two addresses to your phones.”

“Alright. Prentiss, Rossi and I will meet the Richards. Morgan, JJ and Reid, you visit the other junkyard. Wear your gear, all of you, but ask for information. We don’t know anything for sure right now and we don’t have a warrant. Garcia, I want you to stay on the line and give me all the information you can on both junkyards.” Hotch grabbed his phone from the table. 

“Yes, sir.” 

DAWN DEMON. PORTLAND, OR  
8:03 AM  
May 6th

The sound of the river filled my ears pleasantly as I looked down at the bank below.

“Well, that’s taken care of,” I looked down at the freshly unearthed dirt under which my weapons now lay buried. The wet mud and water they lay in would get rid of any remaining evidence, and the only thing left to do would be to make sure there wasn’t any mud left on my shoes when I left. I didn’t want to leave a single thing to be tracked should the FBI connect any dots.

“Hmmmmmm,” I blinked up at the grey sky, a bit of sprinkling rain cooly greeting my skin. It was refreshing.

“Well, I’d best find a way to explain my going out, should they pop by any time soon. Groceries?” I looked back at where I’d come from. “Groceries.” I’d have to wash my shoes and hands somewhere before I hit the store.

And with that thought, I trudged up the muddy slope back to my black camaro, taking out my phone as I did so.

“Hey, Sam? They’re gone, they won’t find them unless they’re tracking this call right now.”

HOTCH, ROSSI, PRENTISS. PORTLAND, OR  
8:54 AM  
May 6th

Rossi was the one who eventually knocked on the door. 

The house they had arrived at didn’t fit the profile at all. It was adorable, a pale yellow color with white trim with green vines neatly climbing the oak wood deck, white lace curtains draped delicately across the windows. Colorful pink and red roses hugged the sides. It was bright; cheery. It didn’t fit the profile of a person plotting serial kills or dealing with intense trauma from an assault. Was it organized? Yes, but that was the only part of the profile that fit.

When Rossi knocked, it was a few moments before there was a voice from inside the house. When Hotch, Rossi and Prentiss heard that voice, they knew they had made a mistake.

“Just a moment!” A frail, haggard voice spoke from inside, delayed, like they had had to wonder if someone had knocked at all. Soon after, the white door swayed open, revealing a very short, white-haired man. Too short to overpower the many larger victims. Too old to fit the profile. Too feeble to travel across state lines in the way the unsub had been traveling.

“How may I help you?” The old man squinted at their FBI vests, clearly unable to read the large print in his old age.

“Mr. Richards? I’m agent Emily Prentiss with the FBI. Is it alright if we ask you a few questions?” Prentiss took the initiative in light of their unexpected suspect.

“O-oh, I suppose,” the man waddled around the door, opening it further. “I’m not sure I could be of much help though, regardless of what you’re looking for.”

“It’s alright. We just have a few questions about your property, the junkyard?” Hotch followed Mr. Richards through the fairy-like white trim.

“If this is about my son, I’m afraid I can’t help you. I haven’t seen him in years.” Mr. Richards face fell a little.

“Your son? Does he have a record?” Rossi shared a look with the other two agents.

“Yes, he does. The little delinquent got himself up to all kinds of trouble, even as a young boy. This can’t be about Joseph, though, can it?”

“We’re not sure yet, Mr. Richards. Is it alright if we sit down somewhere to talk?”

“Of course.” Mr. Richards led them into a baby blue room with white trim, just like the outside of the house. It seemed to be the living room (though it was hard to tell with all the doilies). “Please, sit,” he gestured to the antique orange couches. The agents sat.

“When was the last time you remember seeing your son?” Hotch started.

“I believe it was a birthday four years ago. My wife’s, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Mr. Richards, does anyone have access to the junkyard other than yourself? How about your wife?” Prentiss’ voice was soft, and she was clearly making an effort not to upset the old man.

Mr. Richards fell silent, looking around the blue room quickly and nervously.

“Mr. Richards. Where’s Marylin?” 

“Oh, dear.” Danny Richards looked at the floor.

“..... Mr. Richards?” Prentiss asked softly. “Did she pass away?”

Mr. Richards fiddled his hands. After a brief moment of thought, he looked up again. “Marylin passed away five months ago. Please understand, she wanted to be buried on our property, not some hill where the white-collars live. She wanted to rest here.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Richards. We are not here to investigate your wife. We’re here investigating a murder.” 

Mr. Richards’ head shot up. “A murder? But- but, I don’t see why you need information from me,” his face fell even further than it had before. 

“Mr. Richards, you mentioned your son had a record. What was the nature of his record?” Hotch leaned forward slightly, anticipating an answer that would fulfill the profile.

“Petty theft,” Mr. Richards admitted. “We weren’t- we weren’t rich, you see, we could barely scrape the bottom of the middle class barrel, as it were. It was my fault. I should have taught him better.”

“No one could expect you to do better than you did. I’m sure you were the best parent anyone could be.” Prentiss gently put a hand on his knee.

“No, you don’t understand. Theft is where it started, but…” Mr. Richards trailed off, looking away again. “He got worse. He, he took advantage-” Mr. Richards had to stop to cover his face. Prentiss looked up to Hotch, eyes wide as she comforted him. 

“Joseph took advantage of a girl?” Rossi dared to ask.

“He did.” The old man confirmed it.

“Joseph isn’t our unsub,” Prentiss spoke, looking between the two of them. 

“I could bet that Joseph is related to this somehow. It’s all too close.” Rossi turned back to Mr. Richards. “Mr. Richards, I need you to answer this question. I understand it’s going to be very hard for you, but it could save people’s lives, and we need to know. Do you think you could do that?”

Mr. Richards nodded, not vocalizing his assent. 

“Okay. Who was the girl that Joseph took advantage of?”

The old man started shaking, so Prentiss held him closer.

“Mr. Richards? It’s alright,” she said quietly, rubbing his back. 

“Sammy. That poor girl Sammy who lived on the other side of town.”

Hotch, Prentiss and Rossi all looked at each other, eyes wide.

“Sammy. That must mean-” Prentiss began.

“Samantha. Hotch, we gotta go,” Rossi finished, and Hotch nodded. 

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Richards. You’ve helped us a lot.” Hotch stood up, Rossi and Prentiss reluctantly following. 

“I’ll call Garcia again, see if she can find anything on a case about Joseph and Samantha that might have gotten neglected ten or so years ago. Prentiss, I need you to call Reid to warn the others.” Hotch opened the white door as they all piled out.

“Already dialing.” Prentiss held her phone to her ear.

“Hey, Garcia?” Hotch started, deigning to keep the phone off speaker mode. “I need you to look into a Sammy or Samantha that filed a case within the last twenty-five years that got dismissed. See if she has any ties to a Joseph Richards. Yes, Thanks.” Hotch hung up and looked at Prentiss, nodding, before unlocking the car and sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Reid? Yeah, hey, I’m putting you on speaker. We’ve just got something.”

“Hey, guys, what’s-”

“-No time. Reid, do you recognize the name Joseph Richards at all? He could have been a suspect from a prior case with a similar MO,” Hotch interrupted.

“ _Oh no_ ,” was all Reid got out.

“I knew it.” Rossi looked at Hotch, relaying what he was thinking. Reid seemed to catch on.

“No, Hotch, that’s not it. Joseph Richards was a victim of the Dawn Demon three years ago.”

The car fell silent, Reid offering up a quiet _“guys?_ ” when no one responded.

“That’s our connection,” Rossi suddenly stated, and they all started getting up. “We need to find out who this Sammy is.” 

“Reid, what’s going on on your end? Who were you trying to get information on? Did you get any?”

“Mostly good, we tried contacting a Rebbecca Montgomery and a Samantha Xing. We got a hold of Samantha. She didn’t fit the profile and by description her friend didn’t either, so we’re driving away right now.” Reid paused. “ _Oh_. Oh shit. I gotta go.” Reid hung up.

“Rossi, text that to Garcia.” Hotch started to pull out of the Richards’ driveway.

“If it’s her, then this means our entire profile was wrong. Almost all of it.” Prentiss looked at Rossi nervously.

“This isn’t exactly going as planned. If it’s Samantha, then we’re dealing with two women, and that changes a lot. We could have the dominant all wrong. They could be or could not be in a relationship,” Rossi replied, texting Garcia.

“Rossi, ask Garcia to check Samantha’s records for anything involving computer coding or something similar.” Hotch paused. “Check if she’s called or been called by anyone in the last two hours as well and source it.” 

“Will do.” Rossi typed out a few more phrases. 

“Prentiss, let Reid know to go back to Samantha and Rebecca’s junkyard. We need them there while we wait for a source on Rebecca; it’s likely that she’s called Samantha recently, especially if Rebecca wasn’t there when they arrived.”

“On it.” Prentiss took her phone out again. 

“Hotch, Garcia got back to me. Samantha seems to be hiding a lot of history that we don’t have access to online, but Garcia will try to dig a little deeper. She did manage to pull up something pretty incriminating, though.” Rossi turned his pad to face Hotch so that he could read it while driving.

“What? What is it?” Prentiss impatiently waited in the passenger’s seat.

“Samantha filed a report for a rape fifteen years ago when she was thirteen. It got dismissed. Guess who the offender was?” Rossi showed her the pad.

“Joseph Richards,” Prentiss answered.

“You got it. It looks like we’ve got a real suspect now, Hotch,” Rossi sat back in his seat. “And here I thought that this case would end up in nothing.”

“So positive,” Prentiss rolled her eyes, snorting.

“Like you were optimistic?” Rossi raised an eyebrow at her, leaning forward.

“I might be pleasantly surprised.”

“Ha.” Rossi sat back again, then caught Hotch smiling a little in the rearview mirror. “How does it feel to get close to solving this case?”

“We’re finally catching the sons of bitches. We’ve been on this case for a long time, and I think that if we solve it, we should get a day off to celebrate,” Hotch smiled a little. Rossi smiled back, Prentiss joining in.

“I don’t think any of us can wait, Hotch.” Prentiss grinned back at Rossi.

Hotch gripped the wheel. “Did Garcia give us anything on Rebecca Montgomery?”

“Thirty-one years old, which is five years older than Samantha. Average life. She’s the one that mainly works their car shop and junkyard, it looks like. Does a good job of it, too, she’s got a relatively steady income. Has a registered, completely refurbished ‘79 Camaro.”

Prentiss whistled at that. “Nice.”

Rossi continued. “Has a sealed juvenile record that Garcia is working on. But check this out; they take it out in cash. It’s all coming together.” Rossi crossed his arms, relaxed.

“I wouldn't put all of our eggs in one basket yet. We should watch our deductive reasoning and make sure it’s not inductive, but you’re right. I think we’re close. That juvenile record might make this case. Let me know when Garcia gets back to you.” Hotch’s grip lessened a bit as he spoke, the tightness between the knuckles dissipating. 

“Sure thing.”

DAWN DEMON. PORTLAND, OR  
9:15 AM  
May 6th

I hummed in the produce section quietly, undisturbed by the only two other people by the apples. 

_Should I go for something a little more easy for dinner today? Hmmmmm…_

I looked at the tomatoes across from me.

_Ooooooo. Eggs, peppers, tomatoes, sweet potatoes? I could do shakshuka, that’s really good._

My thoughts were interrupted as my phone rumbled from my inner pocket. Frowning, I took the phone out, saw the caller ID, and immediately answered.

“Hey, Sam! What’s up?”

“Hey, when are you getting back from shopping? We still have to open, you know,” I could hear Sam smile behind her words. I laughed.

“I’m in the produce section right now, but after I get some eggs and chocolate I could wrap it up. You miss me that bad?” I teased, but froze when I heard her next words.

“Yeah, I miss you. Get your ass over here, doubletime.”

_Shit._ We had a code. _I miss you?_ That meant to get home as soon as possible. _Doubletime?_ That meant there were cops or feds at our door.

“Sounds good, hon. I’ll high-tail it on down soon, okay?” _High-tail_ meant that I understood.

“Okay. See you soon.” And with that, Sam hung up.

_Fucking hell._

_Well, this should be fun_ , I told myself as I threw a few more things in my cart and made my way to check out. 

“Better get my game face on. You’ll be tricking feds,” I told myself seriously as I strolled, carrying my small basket of ingredients for the shakshuka. 

“Okay, this might actually be fun.” I smiled inwardly.

HOTCH, PRENTISS, ROSSI. PORTLAND, OR  
9:16 AM  
May 6th

“Guys, Garcia got a hit on an outgoing call from Samantha Xing to Rebecca Montgomery less than a minute ago. She’s tracking the gps right now. Looks like- oh, looks like she’s at a Costo supermarket. It’s five minutes away. Hotch?” Rossi looked at Hotch, who was gripping the wheel again.

“Let’s go.” Hotch flicked the SUV police lights on, stepped on the gas, and started for the new location.

“What are we going to do? Arrest her?” Prentiss asked awkwardly. “Yeah, we get twenty-four hours to hold her, but we’d have to get a confession in that amount of time. We don’t actually have any evidence right now and they aren’t holding anyone hostage.”

“I think we should. We could use that as leverage against Samantha, tell her that we suspect her friend or significant other of murder, and see how she reacts?” Rossi suggested. “If that doesn’t work, well, we can figure something out.”

Hotch made a turn. “We should tell Rebecca that we have evidence against Samantha and tell Samantha that we’ve got evidence against Rebecca and see what happens. We’re going in here blind, we don’t know anything about them, so we might have to try a few different things.”

“Let’s do this. Let’s catch them.” Prentiss smiled back at Rossi.

DAWN DEMON. PORTLAND, OR  
9:30 AM  
May 6th

I heard them coming for me a few minutes before I saw them. When I watched them crowd my Camaro, sirens still on, I knew that they thought they had me.

“How can I help you today, agents?” I raised an eyebrow at them mirthfully as I approached. There were only three of them, two men and a woman, all taller than I was.

“You’re shorter than I expected,” the man with the facial hair commented. 

“Oh? What were you expecting?” I smiled at them, still going through the motions as I unlocked my Camaro and started putting my groceries inside.

“Someone large enough to take out bigger guys on the regular.” That was the woman, the one with straight, black hair. The taller man who hadn’t spoken had straight, black hair, too, but it was too short to tell if it really was truly straight or had some kind of natural wave pattern.

“I’m 5’3. Should I reiterate my first question?” I eyed the tall, dark-eyed man, who folded his arms in response.

“No need. Rebecca Montgomery, you can help us by coming with us and answering some questions,” the tall man said, eyes piercing. I immediately knew he was an FBI profiler.

“What is this about?” I furrowed my brows. “I think I need some context before I run off in an unmarked vehicle, government plates or no. Those could be fake.” Damn, I was good. Very believable.

“How did you know we were agents?” The shorter man asked, and I gave him a look, then pointedly looked at his chest and back up.

“Really? Really, you’re going to ask me that when you’re standing there with FBI across your chest?”

The man, to his credit, looked mildly embarrassed, but the other man stepped forward and looked me up and down.

“This has to do with your partner, Samantha Xing. I believe you know each other well.” His voice was soft, yet steely. It was almost comforting.

“Yeah, we run a business together,” I let confusion flood my face.

“And what kind of business would that be, Rebecca?” The woman stared me down. I held her gaze.

“That would be a salvage and car shop business, agent.” I didn’t divert my gaze at all, yet the agent soldiered on, keeping my gaze.

“Let’s continue this somewhere more private, yes? How about you come with us,” the shorter man gestured to their van.

“Damn, my eggs will go bad,” I looked longingly at my Camaro. “Eh. Whatever, sure. What’s a little excitement, anyway? Eggs are cheap.” I nodded at the agents. “Where do you want me?”

The woman didn’t look amused. “The back.”

“Alright.” I shrugged.

Only one of the agents moved, the tall one, turning to open the door for me as the other agents watched me to make sure I wouldn’t run. Once I was in the SUV, the others followed, filing in in front of me. The tall guy took the driver's seat. 

_He’s in charge._

Older dude took the seat right in front of me, but behind the passenger's seat.

_Single old man, thinks he’s hot shit but hasn’t done much to prove that he is yet._

The woman took the passenger’s seat.

_She’s got a privilege of some sort. It’s not experience, based on age, so….. Oooooooh, I get it. Government._

I kept my thoughts to myself as we pulled out of the parking lot, but once we were on the road, anything was free game to piss these people off. After all, this was all for fun, for show. 

“You all seem to know my name. What’re yours?” 

The two agents at the front didn’t seem to mind me, eyes simply flicking back before focusing forward again. The middle man, however, turned a bit to face me. 

__So, he’s a nice guy. But is he a “nice guy”?_ _

“I’m agent David Rossi.” The agent paused, as if expecting the other two agents to comment, then decided to introduce them to me himself. “Driving is Aaron Hotchner, and this is Emily Prentiss.” 

“Going to be honest, not so nice to meet you, but hey, I’ll try to make the best of this.” I smiled at agent Rossi anyway. 

“You seem a little calm. Too calm, maybe?” The agent that had forgotten that he was literally labeled ‘FBI’ decided to take a stab.

"I’ve been in a lot of high stress situations. You kind of get used to it.” I shrugged. 

“High stress situations? Like fighting people twice your weight?” There was a glimmer in Agent Rossi’s eyes. He was enjoying this. 

__Oh, here we go._ _

“Definitely not what I was thinking of, but if you think I could, I’d take the compliment. Why do you think so? These guns?” I grinned at him while showing off my arms, biceps thick and hard from working in the shop. 

“Using humor to deflect?” 

“Aw, you think I’m funny?” I feigned taking flattery. “I am told that I’m a riot at parties.” 

“You definitely are using humor to deflect.” 

“I like to use humor as a coping mechanism,” I honestly told him, “for stressful situations. Such as these.” I gestured around the SUV. 

“So you are stressed." 

“I don’t know. Based on what you’ve said to me, I’m a suspect in something, and not only that, but you’ve implied that I’ve fought people? So yeah, I don’t know what’s going on. I think I’d like to not know what’s going on. I’m a little stressed.” I leaned back in my seat, looking away dramatically. 

“You haven’t asked about Samantha.” 

“I’ve been thinking about it, but I’m not sure I want to ask. I should probably tell you she prefers Sam.” I grabbed my own arm in a show of discomfort. 

“Right. _Sam_. Okay, then.” 

I could tell I’d stumped him a bit, but while Agent Rossi and Agent Prentiss’ faces were changing, Agent Hotchner’s face was still stone cold. I decided not to look at him, because that might undermine my confidence. 

“I-” I broke the brief silence, “-I would like to know. If she’s done something. I don’t think I want to know the details, but is she in trouble?” As I imagined if this scenario was happening out of my control, I let my voice crack a little. Agent Rossi looked outright nervous now. 

“We-” He stopped, then looked at Hotch, then back to me. “Maybe we should wait on that for right now, okay?” 

I sighed, looking into his eyes to try to estimate where we now stood. “.... Okay,” I said after a little while, quietly. I had to channel vulnerability here. 

I looked out the window, watching other cars take to the sides of the road as we careened past, sirens on. I knew that the sirens were unnecessary since I’d already been apprehended, but there was one fact that was giving me more information than they could ever know; they hadn’t handcuffed me. That meant they didn’t have evidence. They’d only ran a profile, and I’d come up somehow. The car had probably given it away. 

“Hate to break the silence again, but other than the fact that you’re FBI, who are you guys? I mean, what kind of team are you?” 

“We’re the BAU.” Oh, Rossi. As helpful as ever. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be offensive, but what the hell is that?” It was true, I didn’t remember exactly what the acronym stood for, just that they were profilers. 

“The Behavioral Analysis Unit.” 

“.... I’m still a little lost, sorry. I’m a mechanic? I don’t exactly have anything above a bachelors.” 

“Right. Well, it’s our job to track down certain kinds of people that are a danger to society, that detectives or investigators don’t have the training for.” 

“Like murderers?" 

“Often, yes.” 

Suddenly, Hotch’s head snapped up from the wheel. 

“Rossi, that’s enough for right now.” I noticed his knuckles were white against the black wheel. 

_Shitshitshitshitshitshit- I need more information. I don’t think I gave up any, though,_ I thought, looking out the window again. 

When we arrived at the PPB, they corralled me closely into a small room with an obvious two-way mirror. I tried my best to not stare into it like a psychopath. 

I feel like I need to establish this. I’m not. I’m not a psychopath. Do I have some problems? Yeah, but they don’t eliminate my ability to feel for other people and share empathy. Got it? Got it.

I tried my best to look uncomfortable. I was nervous, since I didn’t know how Sam was doing, but I was worried they’d mistake my nervousness for admission of guilt, so instead I went with visible discomfort and sadness. Sadness seemed to work with profilers.

I knew what they were conversing about behind the glass. They were trying to determine how truthful I’d been so far, try to determine who I was based off of what limited data they had off my legal records, but they were going to fail. I’d consistently told half-truths the entire ride over, letting a little emotion slip over, and they weren’t going to catch me in a lie.

They let me stew in my metal chair for an hour. After about forty minutes, I did get up to briefly stretch, but then sat back down and resumed my angsty state. Another twenty minutes and in stepped the tall agent before. This time, instead of his vest and long sleeved, collared shirt, he wore a full suit, carrying an obvious brown folder that I knew had some spicy details about my life.

“Whew, would you look at that.” I whistled and looked the agent up and down, knowing that I would make him uncomfortable.

“I thought you had a relationship with Samantha, Rebecca?”

“How could I admit to a relationship when that-” I pointed at his chest, smirking, “-is right in front of me?” For good measure, I let out a low chuckle that neared a snicker. The agent did, in fact, look uncomfortable, yet he sat down across from me anyway.

“So, you aren’t in a relationship with Samantha?”

“Like I know you already heard, she would prefer Sam. But no. We’re just friends, though we don’t care what others think enough to tell them any different. This is Portland, people talk, and we don’t care too much as long as it doesn’t affect business, you know?”

“Why did you move in with Samantha?”

“We met at our university junior year and hit it off. Honestly, if it wasn’t for how absolutely platonic our friendship was, we’d definitely be together.”

“What University did you go to?”

“I’m assuming that’s in your file, agent, why don’t you open it?”

The agent looked at me for a bit, dark gaze as piercing as ever. 

“Alright.” Agent Hotchner opened the brown folder, then took out a photo. “Do you recognize this?”

It was a picture of Harrison Ramos with his face blown in. 

“Oh my god, that’s _disgusting_ ,” I looked away. I wasn’t lying, it really was gross, and I didn’t want to look at it too long, 

“I’m going to ask you again. Do you recognize him?”

“I don’t think I could if I tried. I’m sorry, agent, who is this?”

“Harrison Ramos. Rapist, collector of child porn.”

I know that my face shifted, because when I looked back at him, his face had shifted too.

“You don’t feel bad anymore, do you?” Agent Hotchner had a shadow of a smug smile on his face, like he thought he’d caught me.

“Out of all the people that could’ve gone out like that? I don’t like passing judgement like this, but I don’t feel as sorry after hearing about… that.”

“You can say it.”

“Say what?”

“Rape.”

“I could, but it’s an uncomfortable word, agent.”

“Why? Have you been raped?”

“ _What the fuck._ ” I was genuinely angry now, and somehow standing. “Of all the shitty things you could’ve said, agent, you just picked one of the _shittiest_.” I gripped the table hard, staring into his face darkly. Agent Hotchner definitely took notice.

“Well? Have you?” He calmly looked up at me, judging my reaction.

I stopped.

“Oh my god, you’re trying to rile me up,” I sighed, exasperated, sitting back down heavily.

“From your reaction, you have been raped.”

“Agent. I know you’re just trying to rile me up, but there are lines that I don’t appreciate you crossing, alright? I don’t understand how this is relevant to that guy,” I pointed vaguely at the picture on the table, “and I don’t like where this is going.” 

“Is that how you and Samantha met? Is that how you became friends? Bonding over rape trauma?”

I froze. “What the fuck did you just say about Samantha?” 

I knew she’d been raped. We’d talked about it, but this was too far, and as her friend, I was at my wit’s end.

“I’d say you both met up and decided to make things happen when your cases didn’t go through, did they? You both decided to take matters into your own hands, for yourselves, and for other girls who’d been raped.”

“What kind of sick, victim blaming bullshit is this? If I didn’t know any better, you’re deliberately asking me to punch your face in.” If it were possible, I gripped the table harder.

“Are you angry enough to? Does getting blamed for what happened to you make you angry enough to hurt someone else?”

I had to stop, take a breath, and look away, putting my face in my hands to block the bright lighting in the room from my eyes. This was all starting to hurt.

“No,” I quietly stated. “No, it does not. Even if you deserve it.”

Agent Hotchner seemed to take a step back at that, seeing that he wasn’t getting the reaction he wanted.

“Let’s look at your file, shall we? There’s some sealed juvenile records in here, and I have a feeling we’ll find some interesting things if we take a peek.” With that, the agent pried open the file once again, tucking the photo of Ramos back into it and taking out a thicker stack of stapled papers.

“Let’s see. Oh, caught stealing? Interesting. Someone named Joseph Richards was caught stealing a lot as a child as well.”

“Don’t put me on the same level as Richards.”

“So you admit that you were raped?”

“No.” I stopped, debating, before I went all in. “No,” I repeated quieter, “I wasn’t the one. You know who it is.”

Agent Hotchner nodded his head. “I need you to say it out loud.”

“Joseph Richards raped Samantha. Are you happy now?” I folded my arms and leaned back, unable to look the agent in the face. Agent Hotchner just kept flipping through my records, ignoring me.

“Oh, lovely. You assaulted another kid in middle school and broke their leg. How did that turn out for you?”

“I realized that I was distributing my emotions in a harmful way, even if anger felt better than sadness, so I resorted back to sadness instead and stopped lashing out.”

“Is that true? Because next-”

I saw the agent freeze up immediately, eyes wide, and in a split second, I realized something.

“Oh my god, _you haven’t read my records_.” My voice held little of the haughtiness I felt then. 

The agent didn’t reply, simply reading the same page over and over again until he cleared his throat.

“U-uh, Miss Montgomery,”

“Oh, so now I’m fragile _‘Miss Montgomery’_ now. How lovely.” I sarcastically bit out, staring at him. The coward wouldn’t meet my eyes, instead looking at the file, still frozen. I decided to play a card to turn the power back to myself.

“So tell me, Agent Hotchner, do you think all murderers have personality disorders?”

The agent finally looked me in the eye.

“They often do.” 

Oh, so he was taking the high road. I was going to kick him off of that pretty soon.

“Do my files look like I have a personality disorder?”

The agent cleared his throat again.

“No,” He said more softly, looking away, and I realized where the chord had struck.

“You are a parent.” I placed my hands on the table in solidarity.

Agent Hotchner’s dark eyes shot up at that, taking me in.

“Yes,” he begrudgingly admitted, closing the file.

“Would you ever do to your children what my parents did to me?”

“I would never.” I could see a flare of defensiveness light up in his eyes, but it simmered down as fast as it had appeared. “I would never,” he repeated, even softer than before.

“Then that’s good enough for my purposes right now. What do you want to know, agent? Without the fireworks show?” I sat back in my chair again, more relaxed. I knew I’d struck a chord.

“I, uh, I’ll be back.” The agent stumbled up, grabbing the file as he left and hurried out the door as fast as he could.

“O-kay, I was _not_ expecting that,” I told myself, even though I knew full well that the other agents behind the glass could hear me.

It wasn’t for a few minutes later that another agent came in

Rossi.

“That was…. intense,” he admitted as he sat across from myself.

“Just a little,” I exaggerated. Even though Agent Rossi had been nicer to me before, I had felt like I’d made some progress with Agent Hotchner. “Are you going to pull a good cop routine with me now?” I joked, and Rossi smiled back, but his smile couldn’t reach his eyes.

“Oh my god, was I really that depressing? I hope you all aren’t crying behind the glass,” I raised my eyebrows at him. That earned a little more truthful of a smile out of him.

“Oh, come on. If you’re going to be the good cop, then you gotta lighten up, buddy,” I nudged him a little with my elbow. “Don’t charge me with assault for that,” I gave him a look, and he chuckled. 

“Alright, alright. Let’s get down to business.” Agent Rossi opened the brown folder once again. “I know there was a bit of a depressing and dramatic entrance to this topic with Agent Hotchner, but we still, unfortunately, need to go over this stuff from your record, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“That’s the spirit. Just let me know if at any time you need a break, I know some of this stuff is heavy and might make you relive some stuff you don’t want to.”

“Oh, what’s a little extra trauma?” I joked, slapping the table lightly. Agent Rossi smiled sadly at me before turning back to the folder.

“Alright. Let’s start where Hotch left off. You were fourteen and living with your mother, father, and three siblings, correct?”

“Correct.”

“And this is when the hospital visits started from the open wounds in your arms.”

I appreciated the tact that Agent Rossi was using with the material, so I took it in stride.

“Yes.”

“And these were self-inflicted?”

“Mostly.”

“Were some from your parents?”

“Some, yes. Most, like I said before, were mine.” I fiddled awkwardly with my hands. It was now my turn to be unable to meet the other person’s eyes.

“Were any of your hospital visits from before the age of fourteen self inflicted?”

“No.”

“Were any of them inflicted by your parents?”

“..... yes.” I stopped. “I’m sorry, agent, but is there a reason this has to do with the guy who was shot in the face? Because I don’t see a correlation.” I did. I was sneaky, and I did understand the importance of profiling, but I needed to know what Rossi thought.

“Unfortunately, serial killers often have a less-than-fortunate childhood.”

“Oh my god, you think I’m a _serial killer_?” I couldn’t stop myself. I appreciated Rossi’s truthfulness, but even I, myself, had never thought of myself as a serial killer. The word just seemed too dramatic, too _unfeeling_ for what I did.

“I’m starting to think you aren’t.”

This was working. 

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I’m not really enjoying this regardless. Could we get over all of the report as fast as possible?”

“Right, of course.” Agent Rossi turned back to the papers. “After fourteen, you consistently ended up in the hospital with intentional wounds until your last year in high school, correct?”

I shrugged. “Yeah. I was doing a little better, my parents weren’t focusing on me as much anymore. I wasn’t taking the blame as much anymore.”

“Blame for what?”

“Everything. You name it; if one of my brothers fucked up, it was my fault. If my sister got home late, it was my fault. If my dad was caught getting into the alcohol again? It was _my fault_. If-”

“-Alright, I’m going to stop you right there. You really don’t need to relive this.” Agent Rossi interrupted me. I appreciated it.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, shrinking in my chair a little.

“Have you ever received counselling services or therapy to deal with your trauma?”

“Nope.”

“Have you ever confided with anyone the extent of your abuse?”

“Just Sam.”

“Okay. Thank you for cooperating, Rebecca, and I’m sorry that this happened to you.” I could tell that Agent Rossi was telling the truth through his eyes.

“Beck,” I suddenly sprouted.

“What?” the agent startled, taken aback.

“Beck. I let my friends call me Beck.”

“Thank you, Beck.” Rossi started to gather the file up to leave.

“ _Wait._ ” I knew that this was the only chance I was going to get to explain this before they read the rest of my file, so I wanted to go over it now.

“What is it?”

“You should- you should read the last thing on my juvenile records. Please.” I stared into his eyes intensely, trying to convey the right emotion.

“Okay, Beck. I’ll do that.” Rossi pulled out the file again.

I breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“Let’s see. February fifth, two weeks before your eighteenth birthday? -Oh.” Agent Rossi froze a little, just like Agent Hotchner had, but he forced himself to move as to react in a way he knew wouldn’t freak me out. I appreciated it.

“Beck,” he stared back into my eyes, “Why did you want me to see this?”

“I- I don’t know. I just…” I looked down at the table. “I figured you were going to find out later, and I wanted you to know why I did it.”

Rossi took a brief look over the papers before turning back to me. “I know why you did it, Beck, you did it because you had to. You didn’t decide this. You did this out of survival, and you did the right thing.”

“ _HOW IS KILLING MY PARENTS THE RIGHT THING_?” I blurted out, jumping a bit at the volume of my own voice. Something hot started to escape my eyelids.

“Oh, no. Oh no no no.” I started wiping vigorously at my eyes. “Fuck, I should NOT be crying, this was thirteen years ago, I’m _thirty-one_ , and I should _NOT_ be-”

“-Cry. _Cry_ , Beck, it’s okay. Even if it’s not okay now? It will be okay.” Someone was suddenly hugging me from across the table, and I realized that it was Agent Rossi.

“Fuck. _Fuck_ ,” I continued to sob, everything suddenly coming out. I had no idea what kind of stunt Rossi had pulled, but it was working. Had he asked me if I had killed all of those rapists, right then and there, I would have said yes.

_Ask me_ , my mind screamed as I sobbed, _ASK ME! FUCKING ASK ME-_

“Beck, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” It was all that Agent Rossi was saying, but somehow, it was all I wanted to hear. Somehow, I did something that I hadn’t done since grade-school. 

I hugged the agent back.

“F-f-fuck, I’m-m g-going to get t-tears all-l-l over y-your-r suit,” I cried, clinging to him harder than ever.

“That’s okay. When was the last time you cried?” The agent held me in his arms like I hadn’t felt in decades.

“A-a f-f-few-w y-y-years ag-go,” I stammered, choking up. Y’s were hard to enunciate when I was crying. “W-wait, nn-no,” I sniffed. “Sev-v-ven. Sev-ven-n y-y-y- f-fuck, I c-can-t-”

“-That’s okay. It’s okay, just keep crying.” The agent was rubbing my back now. Out of all the ways this could have turned out, I definitely hadn’t expected this.

It took an hour to calm me down. After my long cry, I still couldn’t talk right, everything coming out in stammers and slurs, so I just sat quietly in the room as Rossi went to go get me a cup of tea. While he was out, I had an unexpected visitor.

“A-a-gent Hotch-chn-n-ner,” I choked out when he stepped into the too-brightly-lit room. The stuttering was getting embarrassing. It was almost embarrassing to make me cry again.

“Miss Montgomery, I’m here to apologize. You don’t need to speak. I would appreciate it if you would listen to my apology, but I understand if you want me gone, and will leave if you request it.”

My shoulders shook, but I managed to get a shrug out and gesture to the chair in front of myself without my hand shaking like a quaker tree in the wind.

“I- thank you,” the agent seemed surprised. I pointedly didn’t look at him. I hated crying. It was embarrassing, ugly, and I couldn’t arrange my thoughts or words when I did it, rendering myself useless. Agent Hotchner seemed to notice my embarrassment.

“For what it’s worth, you are beautiful when you cry.” 

The words surprised me. I could feel his eyes on me, and I burned under them, but for some reason, it was a comfortable burn. Like a blanket. 

“Th-thank y-y-you,” I managed. Agent Hotchner’s head straightened a bit in surprise, but I could see him beat himself down again in the reflection of the metal table. Then, I had an idea.

“C-cann-n-n I get a-a p-pen-n-ncil?” I finally looked up, meeting Hotchner’s eyes. He seemed to understand what I needed immediately, and looked at the glass behind himself, nodding. Within seconds, an agent I didn’t recognize entered, placed a pencil and pad in front of me, then left without a word. I grabbed the pencil and pad and scooted it across the table towards myself. Then, I began to write.

_You’re kind of a dick, you know_

I started, then showed it to the agent, smiling a little as I did so. It was hard not to laugh at his bashful face.

“Yes, and I’m sorry. I don’t usually lose control like that. It is not an excuse, but my team has been working on this case for months, and it’s been weighing on my mind. I should not have taken it out on you.”

I turned to my pad again.

_Eh, I think I got a free therapy session out of it, so it’s okay._

“I hope you know that therapy is nothing like what I did.” Agent Hotchner actually sounded remorseful. “Oh, right. You haven’t been to therapy, correct?” He hopefully looked at me, and I actually read his face.

His face had dropped from where it had rested when he’d left the room in a hurry before. Before, it had screamed of tiredness, a lack of sleep, maybe a tad of depression, and a relentless amount of weight on it’s shoulders. Now, it was all that and remorse. I could see that he genuinely regretted what he’d said.

_You could’ve cracked me if you hadn't cracked first._

I gave him a smile as I passed the note over. Agent Hotchner read it, and a shadow of a smile passed his face. As he read, Agent Rossi re-entered the room, a steaming cup and a blanket in his hands.

“Can I consider this a confession?” Hotchner looked up at me, something like mirth in his eyes.

“Hotch? Did I just hear you make a joke?” Agent Rossi stepped over to my side of the table softly, setting the blanket over my shoulders and handing me the tea. The tea immediately sloshed all over me as it became accustomed to my shaking hands.”

“ _Son of a_ \- I’m so sorry, Beck, let me grab you some towels. Are your hands burned?” Rossi reached for them, but I pulled them back, nervous.

“I c-can h-h-handle it,” I got out, shaking my head. 

“Will you let me see? Please?” Agent Hotchner suddenly spoke up. I looked at him awkwardly before impulsively handing my hands over.

“Wow. Did you two make up already?” Rossi smiled at me, then patted my shoulder softly. “I’ll go get some towels.”

Agent Hotchner held my hands for a long few seconds before carefully setting them on the table. “They’re definitely burned. We should put something on them.”

“ _We?”_ I sarcastically bit before I could stop myself. Hotchner looked up, startled.

“Looks like you’re back.” And then he smiled; a real and true smile. It was so warming that I couldn’t help but to smile back. 

“But seriously, we should put something on them.” Agent Hotchner picked up one of my hands again, as gently as ever. I let him, until he accidentally touched a burn that sent a jolt through my system and my hand flying back to myself.

“Where’s Sam?” I suddenly remembered. Agent Hotchner looked taken aback, almost ashamed again, but nodded to himself and sat back in his own metal chair.

“She’s in another interrogation room.” 

“Was she ar- arrested?” I hiccuped. Oh, shit. Not the hiccups.

“No. She’s going through a similar process that you went through.”

I stood up immediately. “Ab-bsolutely not. You can’t p-pull this shit with her,” I glared down at Agent Hotchner. “You b-better not mention the r-r-r-” I couldn’t say it. 

“Sam will be fine. She’s in with Agent Jareau, she’s an amazing agent who is very good with people, unlike myself.”

I looked down at him, startled again. “You-you called her Sam,” I stated, eyes wide.

“I suppose I did.” Agent Hotchner looked up at me, as if in submission of the fact.

I paused for a moment before gathering myself and sitting down, clutching the blanket Rossi had given me with my burned hands. If Hotchner noticed, he made the wise choice not to comment.

“Thank you for calling her Sam,” I mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

“It’s the least I could do.”

Neither of us talked for half an hour. We just sat there, waiting for Sam’s interrogation to finish. When our half hour of silence was over, we chatted for the rest of the interrogation. I enjoyed his company.

BECK. PORTLAND, OR  
7:45 PM  
May 6th

The cool of the night air and the smell of the rain on the grass brought me to my senses the moment we left the PPB

“Sam, if I’m going to be honest, I don’t think I can do this again.”

Sam examined my face. “What did they do to you? They just asked me a few questions about my gaming setup,” She winked at me. I laughed mirthlessly in response.

“Wait. Beck, what’s wrong?” Sam suddenly caught on.

“We, uh, went over all my case files. From before college.”

“Oh my god, that’s horrible.”

“It’s okay.” I shrugged, then stopped. “Sam, I haven’t told you this, but there’s something you need to know.”

In the words that followed, I knew two people were listening. I also knew that neither of them would tell anyone. 

“Sam,” I looked her in the eyes. “I killed him. Not- not Ramos. I killed _him_. For you.”

Sam didn’t respond for a long time, just frozen on the sidewalk. 

“Sam?” I asked, quietly.

“Oh my god. _Oh my god,_ ” Sam looked up into the sky.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t _enough_ ,” Sam suddenly snapped.

I nodded. “I know. But I am. I am sorry.”

“For how long?”

“Three years.”

Sam took one last look at me, then walked into the night of stars, alone.

And as Sam walked away, I nodded at the figure at the corner of my vision that I didn’t think I’d see ever again.

BAU. EN ROUTE, QUANTICO, VA  
8:37 AM  
May 7th

“Do you think they did it?” Rossi watched Hotch as he stared out of the jet and into the setting sun, orange illuminating his pale features.

“We’ll never have the evidence. If it was- I’m not so sure this case will be a problem again. A confession was our only bet.”

“We couldn’t have gotten it ethically.”

“No, we couldn’t have.”

“If it causes you any more sound of mind, Beck’s level of forgiveness to you could indicate that she wasn’t guilty,” Rossi tried again, but Hotch turned to him, shaking his head.

“Rossi.”

And in that moment, Rossi knew. And Hotch knew that Rossi knew. And Rossi and Hotch knew that they were never going to say the truth out loud.

“What’s next, boss?”

“Alaska.”


	2. Epilogue

DAWN DEMON. QUANTICO, VA  
7:45 PM  
October 20th  
2013

"It's awfully cold in Virginia in the winter. I was expecting it to be warmer, per being closer to the equator, than Portland." I huddled underneath my double layers of scarves, thanks so a certain man in front of me.

"What? Is it too cold? We could go inside-"

"-Oh, no. I've a wonderful cold and pain tolerance. It isn't really cold to me, I just wasn't expecting it to be colder than Portland, is all."

"Alright, alright. I won't ask again. But, if you need it, just ask for my coat."

"I'm not asking for your coat, Aaron. You'd freeze." I gave him the evil eye.

"All for the greater good." Aaron smiled over at me too sweetly for anyone's good.

"You dork!" I scrunched my nose at him over my coffee. "You've got a much worse cold tolerance than me. Did I mention that my dad's from Alaska?"

"That's funny, our next case after yours was in Alaska."

"The universe works in mysterious ways." I wiggled my eyebrows at him.

Aaron snorted, then paused.

“Speaking of mysterious, Reid is still convinced he was onto something with the O5 in the hacker's signature."

Well…” I trailed off, a sly grin on my face,

“There’s no way.”

“They’re might be…”

"Sam had a connection to the government?"

"Her dad. You didn't think to look that one up, did you?" I chuckled at Hotch's face. He looked downright upset about missing an important piece to the case.

"Her dad had an O5 pay grade?"

"Military. To be honest, the documents might not have been available to you anyway, but from what I've heard about Garcia, I'm sure she would've found them anyway." I sipped at the coffee in my hands, letting the warmth of it's vapors heat my cold nose as I drank.

"Beck..... " Hotch trailed off, gazing at my face. "I'm glad you called. I thought you wouldn't."

"Well, you _have_ been paying my therapy bills, sooooo..." I teased.

"I'm also responsible for your mental break after the case, so it was my responsibility anyway." 

"You really didn't have to. Just like I didn't have to come, alright? If I can admit that I didn't have to come, then you can admit that you didn't have to pay."

".... Alright. I didn't. Happy?"

I just laughed in response, watching as Aaron shivered and took a sip of his own coffee.

"Aaron, you dumbass, get over here." I patted the seat next to me.

"Why?"

"Just do it. Get over yourself and admit that you're cold."

"I am _not_ -"

"-Aaron," I gave him a look. 

Aaron looked long and hard at my face, hoping I would break. I didn't. Aaron sighed, reached across the frozen wire table to set his coffee next to mine, and scooted around the edge until he reached me.

"Are you sure?" His voice was soft.

"Never been surer. Get your ass next to mine or we both freeze."

Aaron laughed, then scooted over just a little more until we were touching. I took off one of Aaron's scarves, wrapping it around both of us, much to Aaron's indignation. He simmered down fast as we both enjoyed the benefits of shared body heat.

"Hey, if you're moving so fast, maybe you're ready to meet Jack?" Aaron raised his eyebrow at me. 

" _Aaaaaarrrroooonnnnn,_ " I drew out dramatically, slumping against him. "That's a really big jump. Bigger than physical contact."

"Right. But he wants to meet you?" 

"You told Jack about me?" I looked up at him through the scarves, smiling.

"I sure did. He really does want to see you."

"Mmmm, okay. I'll think about it."

"So, Friday night then?"

"Oh, you dick." I lightly smacked his shoulder with my free arm.

"I still remember the first time you called me that."

"You mean when I wrote it on that paper while you were interrogating me?"

Suddenly, Aaron looked somber, and it made me stop in my tracks.

"Would you do it again?" He asked quietly. I knew what he was asking.

"Never."

"Was it worth it?"

I thought long and hard before answering.

"All of them."


End file.
